My embarkation was greeted with gentle rain, which quickly subsided as I moved further onto the trail. The traditional starting point for the trail is Ronnie Creek, but I'm a non-traditional type guy, so I started at Dove Lake. They are both the same distance, but Dove Lakes's trail is much steeper. I didn't realize this when I chose the route.
The trail twisted further up the mountain until it wound round to the other side. Then the wind hit, gusty, cold mountain wind, strong enough to knock a child off its feet. A couple hundred meters further and it was raining again. By the time I reached Marion's Lookout, highlight of the park's day trips, it was impossible to see a thing. I didn't even bother to look, especially since I didn't want to get blown off the mountain. At least since I was at the top, I didn't have to climb anymore.
"Oh boy, how about that weather." I said to the man.
The trail descended into a eucalyptus forest below. The trees blocked much of the wind and the rain had finally stopped. Everything was foggy, but occasionally, I caught a quick glimpse of the craggy mountain peaks to my left. The Tasmanian vegetation was quite unique; it almost seemed like a different planet. It was mostly green with rusty-orange scrub popping up everywhere, moss and peat covering all the rocks between. Spirofix and eucalyptus dotted the landscape all the way down into the valley below.
Though my ankles still hurt, once I started moving a bit, the rush of the whole thing killed a lot of the pain. That and paracetamol.
Within an hour, I was exhausted. Hiking typically never tires me, but I quickly realized that I had underestimated the weight of a 50lb backpack, especially when climbing continuously uphill. I sat for a moment and looked down at the amazing blue waters of the many glacial lakes below. The view was stunning. This was going to be an unforgettable experience for sure!
Within an hour, I was exhausted. Hiking typically never tires me, but I quickly realized that I had underestimated the weight of a 50lb backpack, especially when climbing continuously uphill. I sat for a moment and looked down at the amazing blue waters of the many glacial lakes below. The view was stunning. This was going to be an unforgettable experience for sure!
The trail twisted further up the mountain until it wound round to the other side. Then the wind hit, gusty, cold mountain wind, strong enough to knock a child off its feet. A couple hundred meters further and it was raining again. By the time I reached Marion's Lookout, highlight of the park's day trips, it was impossible to see a thing. I didn't even bother to look, especially since I didn't want to get blown off the mountain. At least since I was at the top, I didn't have to climb anymore.
Over the next 2km, the weather got increasingly worse. The rain went from small drops, to big drops, to sleet, until it finally decided to peak at BB sized hail. I overtook a fellow hiker who had done the trail a couple of times before. He informed me that a shelter was only 15 minutes walk away. 35 minutes later, we finally reached the shelter and escaped the pelting hail.
"Oh boy, how about that weather." I said to the man.
"Oh boy is right, mate." He removed his hood to reveal he was an elderly man in his seventies. "I think I'll eat a quick warm lunch and move on."
"Continue on? Isn't this the hut?"
"Oh no, this is just Kitchen Hut, an emergency shelter. The first overnight hut is another two hours further on."
That put me at just more than halfway done with the day. I was already exhausted: my back hurt, my ankles hurt, and one layer of face had been not so carefully removed by unhindered, blowing precipitation. There was thankfully only 30 minutes left on the open mountain face. The trail was well maintained at this point; it was nothing but continuous boardwalk above the creeks and rocks, a trail marker jutted up every ten feet. This seemed a bit obsessive: I can't imagine a person getting lost on top of a boardwalk.
The trail descended into a eucalyptus forest below. The trees blocked much of the wind and the rain had finally stopped. Everything was foggy, but occasionally, I caught a quick glimpse of the craggy mountain peaks to my left. The Tasmanian vegetation was quite unique; it almost seemed like a different planet. It was mostly green with rusty-orange scrub popping up everywhere, moss and peat covering all the rocks between. Spirofix and eucalyptus dotted the landscape all the way down into the valley below.
The trail twisted around the mountain and finally descended into the aptly named Waterfall Valley. The valley was nestled by high cliffs to all sides, each with waterfalls gushing the rain and meltwater into the creek beds at the bottom. The fog was too thick to see this, but it didn't obscure the most beautiful sight of the day, the first hut! With darkness swiftly approaching, it was four in the afternoon after all, it could not have come any sooner.
I collapsed upon opening the door. I just wasn't in enough shape for this first day of climbing, but a good night's sleep would hopefully give me the strength for the next. The hut was quite nice, with wooden bunks to sleep 25 and a gas heater to dry off all of our gear. Even with a rain jacket, rain pants, fleece coat, hooded sweatshirt, t-shirt, and jeans, I was soaked all the way down to my thermals. I had a backpack cover over my water resistant backpack, but this proved useless: everything in my pack was wet. That day, even the super backpackers, with their $1000 dollar backpacks and special waterproof covers learned the lesson that "waterproof" is a myth.
There were about seventeen of us that first night, all with similar dilemmas, so the heater space for drying gear was quite full. After a bit of talking, we all hit the sack around 7:30. My sleeping bag did in fact prove to too thin for the conditions; even with a dry pair of jeans, stocking cap, polypro thermals (shoulda got thermalux), winter coat and four pairs of socks, I was absolutely freezing. The heater, although adequate for drying clothes, did little for making the hut warmer. It also turned off 45 minutes to save gas. Since I didn't sleep, I gave myself the responsibility of turning it back on whenever it died. Eventually, curled in a little ball, I finally slept for an hour. I dreamed of being in Jack London story with wet matches.
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